


A Lesson in Holmes

by Fyliwion



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Night Stands, Only One Bed, PWP, Post-Case, Sincere lack of Plot, Strong Language, Voyeurism, Watson has a hand kink, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyliwion/pseuds/Fyliwion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that Holmes and Watson had never shared a bed before...</p><p>Somehow this time was just different.</p><p>Or: In which Watson fails at keeping his emotions in check.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eialyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eialyne/gifts).



> **Eialyne** wanted "Having to share a room while away on a case" and "fluffy fleeting touches" and I sort of took that to the extreme pwp cliche realm.
> 
> Also, thank you to **Eialyne** for also being epic and betaing her own gift fic. Because I fail at edits.

* * *

 

It was not as though I had failed to see Holmes undress before, nor was the idea of sharing rooms unusual in our circumstances. Holmes rarely slept during cases or if he did it was like the dead, so bedding arrangements had been little problem.

Tonight was somehow different.

Perhaps it was his apparel; dressed like a peer in preparation for the event that we had attended to scout the proper culprit. Perhaps it was the way his hand slipped to his bow-tie as he sat on the edge of his bed, pulling off the material before moving to his cuff-links, or the way both of us were still breathing hard from the chase that had ensued along the river just a short time prior.

It had been an adventure worth our  waiting, although one that should I write down at all would be required to put away with my other notes until such a time it was safe to print. But at the moment my thoughts played little concerning the resolution or repercussions.

Instead my eyes lingered dangerously on him.

He stood, the top button undone and cuffs loose and looking perfectly disarrayed. He had a hint of a smile on his face before he moved across the room to fetch a brandy that had been brought up with two glasses. I suspected a gift from our client given the vintage.

Holmes poured one, than a second that he handed to me as I was still catching my own breath.

“A well-earned drink, eh Watson? Perhaps a bit of celebration for the resolve of such a worthy criminal,” he sipped the brim, his lip wetting and I felt my mouth go dry.

Why now? Why when there was no place to hide, no second room, why as his hand drifted up to work on another button, his waistcoat tossed to the side and he rolled up his sleeves? Why were his trousers so carefully tailored? Damned if he didn’t lean against the window making certain every curvature was on view in some sort of filthy way.

'Perhaps' I thought 'It would be best if I slept on the chaise, never mind the pain my shoulder would endure come morning.' Except I knew Holmes would never hear of it, no matter the excuse given.

The brandy burned on the way down, and it settled into the pit of my stomach. I downed the rest, and moved to pour myself a second. Dangerous, but the effects could be blamed on the substance rather than myself. I dare not undress just yet, fighting to tamp down my own overwraught feelings of lust.

Except every move of his disrobing came in small detailed steps, playing out like a private performance. A slow, carefully maneuvered dance that went straight to my groin. The movements precise, decided, and more like a woman’s striptease than a man preparing for the night. His shirt dropped, then his fingers to his trousers. I noticed he was half aroused himself- no doubt from the thrill of the chase, and he rolled his shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed once more to lie down.

I forgot on occasion the man’s physique. That Holmes was a regular practitioner of baritsu, boxing, fencing, and innumerous other activities, not including our midnight runs that kept him more than fit. Tonight I seemed overly sensitive, aware of every movement and flicker of his eye, and I worried that at any moment he might realize my own proclivities that I now found unable to be pushed aside.

Now here we were, half a world away from London, and suddenly I found it near impossible not to reach out and touch what had been so long off limits.

“Watson? Come to bed” he called and his voice, with such an innocent statement gave my heart palpitations. For a moment I presumed he meant more, had the erroneous conclusion from the hint of amusement and husky quality that implicated the things I had fantasized so frequently of in my own chambers.

But no, just a simple statement, a tilt of head as he glanced at me in curiosity.

“Yes of course Holmes.” I decided to ignore the growing problem in my own trousers as I quickly made work of my shirt and cuffs. My fingers still were unsteady from the earlier thoughts, and I had to force myself from hesitating as I reached for my trousers.

Even still I could feel Holmes’ eyes on me, watching my every move as I undressed, glancing at where I folded the shirt and vest, and then tracing the line of my pants as they fell. He watched with a scrutiny reserved for cases, and I decided as a proper British man to simply ignore my prominent arousal and would turn away in bed and hope the problem solved itself without my assistance tonight.

When I turned, Holmes had sprawled out above the covers, eyes carefully trained on my body, and I fought a strangled voice seeing his own hand brushing his own sharp bulge fighting its way from too tight drawers. Indeed, one of the buttons was straining and for a moment I felt certain a hint of foreskin found its way into the man’s palm.

When he pulled his hand away there was little hiding he was burgeoning himself, and I could not fathom it. Never before had I seen him so affected- and dear God how would he be able to sleep?

Or I for that matter.

My tongue flicked over my lips, mouth watering as I imagined slipping over him, unbuttoning the straining clasp and solving the issue for him. I could imagine his fingers lacing into my hair as he would, as in all things I imagined, take entire control of the situation.

I forced my eyes away, and slipped to the other side of the bed nearly forgetting to breathe. My hand shook from the old injury, my own nerves shaken, and I should have jumped out of my skin when I felt Holmes’ cold hand brush my shoulder.

“My dear Watson” he said voice still low and brusque. “Forgive me. How could I have missed that our travails have wound you up so?” His fingers brushed over the muscles and I let out a groan as his fingers dug in. I felt him rise to his knees, and suddenly on my stomach as his hands were all over my back.

The friction of the bed against my cock nearly undid me, just as his hands slid down my spine.

“Too much Holmes,” the confession fell from my lips as his hands slipped along my sides, and quite nearly to my buttocks.

He removed his fingers although for a moment I imagined they brushed the curvature of my arse. Indeed, I felt his finger touch the space between them and nearly thrust into the bed before counting careful breaths.

“Watson?”

I felt gentle hands again, this time brushing across my arm. How could he not read the struggle? Impossible. How then could he not be offended? Not be disgusted by such open wantoness and lust. I felt his fingers slip down to encircle my writs. Long musician’s hands that made patterns against the pulse that was beating rapidly through my body.

“Holmes I-“ the words sought to tumble from my lips but the fear of losing him forever for something as petty as lust was too wretched to endure.

I felt him slip under the covers, and then slip closer to me. The room had a chill I told myself, except even as I did I felt him slide against me, his arousal persistent and brushing against me. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

 I fear it was then I lost control, my hips pushing back as the hard petrution slipped between my thighs and rubbed between my legs. There was nothing platonic about the movement, and I felt his strange movements on my wrist freeze.

I worried then that I had gone too far. That all of this lead up had merely been some strange left over from the excitement of the case, and that my own lust driven brain had refused to consider. That he would not reciprocate and like in all things this was just another of Holmes' peculiarities.

But then I felt Holmes other hand slip around, his fingers drift over my hip to slip inside my drawers to take me in hand.

I let out a cry as I thrust into him.

“Hush Watson. The walls are not so thick as that,” but his own voice was wrecked as he began making quick movements. His hips snapped, and his cock, still clothed, rutted against my arse properly this time. I bucked again, trying as I might to grind against it.

I was completely and utterly raptured by the idea that Holmes wished to please himself with me.

“Holmes,” I whimpered.

There was a dark chuckle and a sharp thrust again. I shook the hand off my wrist so I might attempt to pull down my trousers, and the other man obliged in assisting me. As I blindly moved, I felt him tap my hand away and then whimpered when I heard his own snaps undone and suddenly felt the brush of skin against my own.

“God Watson, tell me you have something to ease this" he said when the head brushed the crevice between.

“A… a jar of Vaseline." I managed. “In my bag…” I rocked in his hand, my own cock leaking at the tip and gasped as he pulled off and rolled over.  For a moment  I feared that I had done something wrong, and sought to beg when my lips opened and I found his fingers slipped between them. The own bitter taste of myself coating them as I heard him mummer, “I said quiet Watson."

My lips closed around them and I sucked as I might his cock whilst he shuffled through my bag next to the bed with one hand. The cover had been taken off and my eyes flickered down as I could see his cock, tall and at attention. He let out a cry of triumph, finally pulling out the small jar of grease and with his free hand dipped in and carefully slathered his own member. His eyes tightened at each touch, and then he removed his fingers from my lips murmuring, “Over.”

I slipped forward on the bed, back onto my stomach as he shifted a pillow under my hips and then, with the same fingers that hand lingered between my lips moments before, began his exploration.

It proved nearly too much. Holmes long digits inside, splitting and scissoring. I realized this was not his first or even second time. He was well seasoned, scientific precision yes, but practical practice as well as he carefully stretched and worked and occasionally let his fingers run along the inside of my thigh tightening over my balls and brushing the head of my cock.

By the time he slipped inside of me I was too far gone to rationalize what happened. He started gently and then the thrusts became hard until I buried my head into a pillow so the room next door might not hear my cries. He fucked me into the bed until I forgot what was fantasy and reality and only groaned as his hands pinned my wrists and I felt his hips rock into my own.

When he took me back in his hand it was only a moment later that we both were spent. No doubt some hint or clue giving away how close I was so we might climax together. We shuddered in tandem, Holmes biting into my shoulder to keep his own cries quiet, before he pulled out, breathless.”

It was all nearly too much.

His fingers brushed over my side, and I thought to turn and kiss him.

Except I was too late; he rolled over without speaking and eased his breathing into a pattern I knew would put him asleep.

I felt a slight pang of hurt at the action, wishing to bask in the afterglow and explore the new unexplored crevices allowed me. Yet the day had been long and I was exhausted myself. I stared at the pale expanse of back for some time before finally drifting off into my own slumber.

  

* * *

 

The morning came with no further words about the incident. Indeed, he was in high moods, but neither of us discussed what had passed and I now suspected in ernest it was simply a heated moment of passion. Men in the barracks had on occasion offered each other assistance without actually condoning or preferring the same sex. I had often obliged, for while I had some attraction to women, more frequently my tastes fell among my own sex.

Now the night before seemed a faraway thought, and I began to believe I had been mistaken. Our trip home was of little consequence, although I imagined Holmes’ eyes straying to me more hastily and frequently than in the past. Then there was a moment, as we stood in the empty car and slipped our valises above that I felt him brush behind me, and fought to keep protocol as the door opened just a moment later to admit an attendant.

But these hints existed before the night, and I should be remiss if I thought anything had changed beyond our usual habits.

So we arrived back at Baker street, we greeted Mrs. Hudson, and I turned in without further ado or any hint that Holmes might wish to join me.

It was wretched.

I lay in bed tossing and turning and remembering every detail of the previous evening. His long cock inside me, the feel of his arse under my hands, the deep sound of his voice filled with sex and promise.

And yet I had not so much as kissed him.

I found little sleep, and it grew worse when his violin playing began. It was a sound that so often assisted my insomnia but now provided little comfort. Rather it simply added more questions to the long list I had begun.

Still at the small hours of the morning I realized the truth of the matter. Holmes had made the first move. I had the thoughts and considerations but he had instigated. Here I had myself on the wrong end of the conundrum.

After all, I was better with the softer emotions or so he claimed. What move had I made the morning before? I had always loved the days when I had the time to attend to a lover in the afterglow. Yet here I had allowed Holmes to fuck me with little protocol and then proceeded as if nothing had happened.

When the morning came I slipped out of bed, and found Mrs. Hudson had already left a breakfast on the table where Holmes was picking at a tea and egg with little vigor. He was already devolved into his paper and ignoring the world as I bent over.

It was just us in the room, I decided to risk it.

“Morning Holmes” I said, softly leaning over as he looked up realizing my proximity. Before he could turn away I caught his lips, brushing them chastely and reaching across to brush my thumb across his cheek.

The look of surprise worried me for half a moment, but the delight in his eyes and the hint of tremor where he held the paper was worth it.

“Watson-“

I stole a piece of his toast, hand brushing his shoulder before taking my seat across from him.

“So then, what news for us this morning?”

It appears I had learned a thing or two from Holmes.

 


End file.
